Parthian Shot (Marcus Corvinus Book 9)

by David Wishart

  And there were plenty of Jews in Parthia...

  ‘Corvinus?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Wake up, okay? I was saying I’ve fixed things up with Lanuvinius. He’s expecting a visit from you, and he’ll take it from there. Can you manage that?’

  ‘Sure. When?’

  ‘Today, if you can. He’s pretty busy.’

  ‘Today?’ Well, if I started out more or less straight away I’d be in Ostia by noon, and I could always bunk down at Agron’s place if things took longer than expected. Still, it was a long ride and I wasn’t looking forward to it. ‘Great. Thanks a lot, pal.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. How’s the investigation going?’

  ‘Not bad.’

  He shot me a sharp look. ‘Meaning it’s turned political, right? Seriously political?’

  ‘Could be.’ I wasn’t going to mention Gaius Caesar; no way was I going to mention Gaius Caesar! Lippillus was better off without that bit of information.

  He stood up grinning. ‘Very informative. You’d make a good oyster. Okay, no problem, I’m not pushing, and I’d best be getting back in any case. Say hello to the lady for me.’ He paused. ‘One thing, Corvinus.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’m serious now, so you pay attention. These Ostian gangs, they don’t play around, and they don’t like strangers. Especially nosy strangers. I don’t know what Lanuvinius has in mind for you, but be careful, right?’

  ‘Of course. Yeah. Right.’

  ‘And give the lads at the Watch-house my regards.’

  ‘I’ll do that. Thanks again, Lippillus. I owe you one.’

  ‘Just take care.’

  He waved and left.

  Rome to Ostia is fourteen miles down a good, well-surfaced road: not a bad ride so long as you take it easy, unless you’re a cack-handed horseman like I am, but in broad daylight the first stage, getting across the city to the Ostian Gate, is a complete bugger. The sun was well up before I cleared the gate and got properly on my way; which meant that it was after noon by the time I reached the town itself.

  The Watch-house was easy to find: an old two-storey building on the Decumanus right in the centre near the theatre. I parked the horse with one of the ubiquitous entrepreneurial kids who hang around the Market Square area, went in and asked for Lanuvinius.

  ‘You want him personal, sir?’ the squaddie on the desk asked. ‘Only he’s out at the moment, and I know he was planning seeing about a dodgy plaster shipment over in Picus Street this afternoon.’

  Bugger. Well, Lippillus had said the guy was busy, and I couldn’t expect him to be sitting in an office twiddling his thumbs waiting for me. ‘The name’s Marcus Corvinus,’ I said. ‘Decimus Lippillus at Public Pond in the City sent me.’

  The squaddie’s face broke into a grin. ‘Oh. Right. No problem, then, the boss said you might call round. He’s on his break just now, at his daughter’s. She’s got a cloth shop on the Hinge, about two hundred yards up from Market Square on the left hand side. If you hurry you should catch him.’

  ‘Great. Thanks, friend.’

  I went down the steps and turned back the way I’d come, up the Decumanus. The old fort guarding the harbour and the Tiber mouth may be long gone, but the name’s a reminder that the layout is still there under all the modern buildings, which means that the town’s centre is a lot more visitor-friendly than Rome’s. The Hinge was the other main street, crossing the Decumanus at the market square; not far, in other words, which was no doubt why Lanuvinius took his lunch at his daughter’s.

  I found the place; the usual small stone-counter-and-hole-in-the-wall job between a hardware merchant’s and an undertaker’s business. Lanuvinia – if the woman behind the counter was the guy’s daughter – filled most of it easy.

  ‘Yes, sir. How can I help you?’ she said. Nice cheerful smile, though.

  ‘Ah...I’m looking for someone called Lanuvinius. The Watch commander?’

  The smile broadened. She had good teeth; whatever had caused the spread, it couldn’t be too many honey-cakes. ‘Yes, he’s here,’ she said. ‘Just go on through.’

  The shop was full of bolts of cloth that lined all three sides a couple deep, but there was a clear space behind them big enough for a bench set against the back wall. I could see the family resemblance right away. Lanuvinius was as big as his daughter with a bit to spare: not unhealthy-fat, but there was enough there for two Watch commanders, easy, certainly two Lippilluses. He was sitting on the bench with an empty plate, a jug and a wine-cup beside him. Well, at least I hadn’t interrupted his meal.

  ‘Valerius Corvinus, right?’ he said.

  ‘That’s me.’ I held out my hand.

  He wiped his own on his tunic and took it. We shook. I thought his grip would be spongy, but it wasn’t, not at all. The eyes were pretty sharp, too; they’d taken in my purple stripe and Market Square haircut at a glance, and there hadn’t been any hesitation over my name. Yeah, Lippillus had said the guy was good, and Lippillus was a hard judge. That was reassuring.

  ‘Welcome to Ostia.’ He shifted up the bench. ‘Have a seat. Sorry it’s so cramped, but I don’t usually have company on my lunch break. You want to go somewhere else?’

  ‘No, here’s fine. And I’ll stand, thanks. It’s a long ride from the City.’

  He chuckled, his three chins wobbling. ‘You’re not a horseman, then? That makes two of us. How’s Lippillus?’

  ‘Fine. He sends his regards.’

  He reached for the jug and held it up. ‘You want some of this, by the way? There’s the best part of a cup left, if you don’t mind the one I was using.’

  ‘Sure. If you can spare it.’

  He poured and held the cup out for me to take. ‘Now. I’ve got to go over to the other side of town shortly so if you don’t mind we’ll get straight down to things.’

  ‘Suits me.’ I took a long swallow of the wine. Not bad. And very welcome after the ride down from Rome.

  ‘Lippillus filled me in on the background, at least as much of it as he knew.’ Lanuvinius’s sharp eyes twinkled. ‘Which didn’t, to be frank, amount to a handful of beans. Would you care to bridge a few of the gaps at all, maybe? Just to satisfy my curiosity?’

  ‘Ah...’

  ‘Meaning no.’ He grunted. ‘Well, he said you probably wouldn’t. All the same, he’s got a lot of time for you, and with Lippillus that doesn’t happen often where purple-stripers are concerned, so we’ll let it pass.’ Oh, whoopee. ‘It’s a political job, right?’

  ‘Uh..yeah. Yeah. At least, I think so.’

  ‘No need to pussyfoot there, Corvinus. That makes me feel a lot better, because political jobs I’m happier not knowing about anyway. So. Isak’s got himself mixed up in politics, has he?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Isak. The gang leader. Lippillus didn’t mention him?’

  ‘No. Just that the knifemen were Jewish. He told me you’d fill in the details yourself.’

  Lanuvinius grunted again. ‘Fair enough. It’s a family gang – they mostly are around here, and they go back generations – maybe twenty, thirty strong. Professional, naturally. Isak’s the leader, elected, has been since his father died five or six years back, although he’d already been running things in practical terms for about the same again before that. He’s head brother, not the eldest but the toughest and the smartest by a long chalk, which is what counts because crime’s a dog-eat-dog business in Ostia and weak, stupid leaders are culled pretty smartly, usually by their own kin. On the other hand – or maybe the two things are connected – he’s straight enough in comparison with a lot of them, which is why I didn’t tell Lippillus to forget it right off when he suggested you might come down here.’ He paused. ‘Even so I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t warn you to drop this now. Isak may be straight for a crook and a killer, but he’s a crook and a killer none the less. Having anything to do with him and his friends when you don’t need to is a bad, bad idea. You understand me?’


  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I understand. Lippillus said the same.’

  ‘Fine. Just so’s you don’t come whining to me if you end up in an alley with a knife between your ribs. And put just one foot wrong and that’s a definite possibility.’

  Cheery bugger, this; all the same, if he said it was dangerous then I’d be a fool to think otherwise, and Lippillus’s unsolicited warning put the cap on it. I was glad Perilla hadn’t been up and around when he’d called that morning; in her present jumpy mood the lady would’ve had kittens. ‘So,’ I said. ‘How do I get to talk to him?’

  ‘You’re sure you want to? Hundred-percent, cast-iron sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Fine.’ He shifted on the bench. ‘Only you play it exactly as I tell you, right? Your best bet’s a wineshop near the old boatyard, name of Mamma Scylla’s. I can’t guarantee he’ll be there, mind, or if he is that he’ll talk to you, but that’s your worry. Mention my name. Like I say, Isak’s on the other side of the fence but we know each other and the respect goes both ways. Not that that’ll help if he decides he doesn’t like you or if you choose to play silly buggers, but it’ll at least give you a fair chance of a hearing. Got me?’

  ‘Got you.’

  ‘One other thing. Suggest – just suggest – that this is even slightly official and you may as well slit your own throat and save Isak’s boys the trouble of doing it for you, because they won’t think even once about it let alone twice. Right?’

  ‘Right.’ Jupiter in a bucket, I must be crazy!

  ‘Good.’ He levered his huge bulk off the bench. ‘Now. I have to be getting on. You know where the old boatyard is? Down near the harbour to the left at the end of a line of granaries.’

  ‘I’ll find it.’

  ‘You’ll see the slipway clear enough, two or three hundred yards along the front. Head for that. If you get lost, which you won’t, ask for the boatyard rather than Mamma Scylla’s. Questions in that direction tend not to be too well-received, especially if the person asking them’s a Roman purple-striper. Best of all, just don’t ask anyone anything, find it yourself. Mamma Scylla’s is the lean-to next the horse trough, fifty yards or so on the far side.’ He held out his hand. ‘It was nice meeting you. I hope I have the pleasure again in future.’

  Shit; maybe I should just nip in to the undertaker’s next door and make my arrangements now. Well, I was committed, but I didn’t like the sound of this at all.

  ‘Same here, pal,’ I said.

  We shook. ‘Tell Lippillus I was asking for him.’

  I could see, once I left the comparatively upmarket area of the harbour, what Lanuvinius had meant about not asking help from the locals: if this’d been the City, the average specimen would’ve been definitely of the corn-dole variety, with signs of even lower social predilections like a bored-through ear or a brand across the cheek. Covering the last stretch between the harbour and the old boatyard was no joke; I could feel eyes on me all the way, and the hairs on the back of my neck were so stiff I could hear them rasp against the edge of my cloak. I had a knife, sure, tucked away at the side of my tunic belt, but I wasn’t fool enough to think it gave all that much of an edge. If for reasons of their own the buggers who were eyeing me wanted me dead, then I was dead, no argument. There were at least fifty of them to every one of me, for a start.

  Lanuvinius’s directions had been spot-on: I saw the wineshop just where he said it would be, beyond the old slipway - abandoned now; they don’t build ships of any size at Ostia any more, at least this close to the Tiber mouth - and next to a crudely-made stone horse trough.

  There was no point in faffing around. I took a deep breath, pushed the door open and went in.

  Crowded though it was, when I crossed the threshold you could’ve heard a mouse fart. There were maybe a dozen punters sitting at the tables and propped against the bar. That made two dozen eyes that were zeroed in on me and the purple stripe on my tunic. Or maybe a few less, because a fair sprinkling of the punters weren’t fully equipped in the optical department.

  That included the barwoman. At least, I assumed she was a woman, from the length of her hair and what she was wearing. Mamma Scylla was right. Given the choice between passing within her grabbing range or Charybdis’s I’d’ve had to think carefully myself. And even with two eyes she’d be no beauty; not if you didn’t like your women built on the scale of arena chasers with a serious attitude problem.

  ‘What do you want, son?’ she said. There were a few snickers, but most of the punters just carried on staring, which was worse.

  ‘A cup of wine’d be perfect,’ I said. There was no board in evidence, and now wasn’t the time to quibble over details. I didn’t think ordering half a jug would be good policy, either. No point being extravagant when you’re not absolutely certain you’ll have the time to finish the stuff. Or the throat to pour it down.

  Still looking at me, she reached for the jug on the counter and poured into an empty cup.

  ‘That’ll be two coppers.’

  Well, I couldn’t complain about her prices. I walked over to the bar like I was walking on eggshells, reaching into my pouch as I went and finding the coins by touch. The snickers died down. Now there was only silence. She took the coppers and put them into a bag at her belt. Fighting the urge not to look left or right, or behind me for preference, I took a sip. The wine wasn’t bad; not bad at all. Not Alban, sure, but a long way from Gallic rotgut. ‘I’m looking for a guy named Isak,’ I said. ‘He here at all?’

  If I’d thought the place was quiet before, I had the impression now that my ears had seized up altogether. Forget the mouse; you could’ve heard a farting gnat. The hairs on my neck and scalp went into overdrive.

  ‘He might be,’ said a man to my left.

  I turned slowly, cup raised. The guy was at least six-three, built like the business end of a trireme, and smiling was something he wasn’t doing. I had the impression of oil, teeth, black tight-curled hair, olive skin and hard, hard muscle. Also, that the punters in the immediate vicinity had drawn back like they might when a cat at the Games had the bolt slipped on its cage.

  ‘You’re Isak?’ I said.

  He didn’t blink. I noticed that his hands, both resting on the counter, were the size of plates. The backs weren’t so much covered with hair as fur. ‘That’s me. What’s your name and who sent you?’

  ‘Marcus Corvinus. The Watch-commander. Publius Lanuvinius.’

  Pause. ‘You a friend of his?’

  ‘He told me to use his name. We’re not in the same business, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘So what is your business?’

  ‘I need to talk to you. Just that.’

  ‘You’re talking. How long it’ll last is another matter.’ Someone on my other side sniggered. I didn’t turn round, but he glanced over my shoulder and the guy clammed up. The silence lengthened. ‘Talk about what?’

  This was the tricky part. Even so, a lie wouldn’t get me anywhere. ‘Word is, you and your family hit a litter party some time back in the City. On the Esquiline,’ I said. Somewhere behind me, a cup was set down and a throat was cleared. Isak’s eyes didn’t shift. ‘I’ve got a...call it an interest in that. Not an official one. I told you, I’m not in that line. I just have a few questions that only you can answer. Private questions.’

  ‘Private questions.’ The eyes still hadn’t left my face. ‘You say Lanuvinius sent you? So he knows what these “private questions” are?’

  ‘No. I didn’t tell him. They’re my business, no one else’s.’ I sipped the wine and tried to make it look casual. ‘Just like the answers would be.’

  He didn’t move, but the hardness of the stare relaxed. Suddenly, he laughed, showing a set of perfect teeth like marble tombstones. ‘Well, Roman,’ he said, ‘you’ve got balls anyway. And Lanuvinius is okay for a Watchman. Maybe I let you talk a little longer. As for answering questions, we’ll see what they are first.’ He turned to the barwoman. ‘Pour us the rest of the jug
and bring it over.’ The eyes came back to me. ‘All right, Corvinus. Let’s talk. In private.’

  He picked up his own wine-cup and led the way to a table in the far corner. It was already occupied, and although he didn’t say anything the two men sitting at it got up like someone had pulled their strings and moved quickly over to the bar. The table next to them emptied like magic too. Isak sat down and motioned to the chair opposite.

  ‘Well?’ he said when we were both facing each other.

  ‘The guy in the litter was a Parthian prince,’ I said. ‘Name of Phraates.’ He grunted, but his stare didn’t waver. ‘You knew that?’

  ‘No. The contract was just to hit the litter party.’ His tone was matter-of-fact. I glanced round; not an eye was pointed in our direction. If Isak wanted a private conversation then private it was. He hadn’t even bothered to lower his voice. Evidently it was up to the other guys not to listen in. I had the distinct impression listening in uninvited would not be a wise move. ‘We were told when and where, and what was the target. No names. But I’ve heard of Phraates.’

  ‘Can I ask who told you?’

  ‘A man. Just a man.’

  ‘Roman or foreign?’ That might make a difference. Sure, it was unlikely that the principal would’ve arranged the deal in person, but although a ‘Roman’ contractor – including the non-Romans Tiridates and Mithradates who were long-term residents of the City – would’ve had access to both types of middle-man, anyone from the delegation would be forced to use one of their own people. If the rep was a complete foreigner it would point the finger at one of the embassy for sure. Not that there was any doubt in my mind that a Parthian was responsible, whether he belonged to the embassy or not: let alone the cui bono aspect, Parthians, even Roman-bred ones, get on better with Jews than we do. No Roman would hire a Jewish gang out of choice. There’d be too much ingrained national prejudice on both sides and too many hackles raised for either party to trust the other fully. We stick to our own villains.